


Motel California

by Reagenz (Hierophany)



Category: Dead by Daylight (Video Game)
Genre: Angst and Porn, Anxiety, Canon-Typical Violence, More or less harmless tbh, Other, Porn With Plot, Reader character is as physically neutral as possible, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, slight bloodplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-22
Updated: 2016-12-22
Packaged: 2018-09-11 01:24:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8947639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hierophany/pseuds/Reagenz
Summary: Getting lost in the fog during an evening stroll you find yourself stuck in a place outside of the maps at the killer's mercy.





	

**Author's Note:**

> TW: There is a passage that might be triggering to rape survivors. No straight out non-con at any time. 
> 
> My first attempt at writing porn. Ever.  
> English is not my first language so if anyone wants to beta this I would be glad.

The chatting of your friends around the fireplace is not making you feel at peace like it usually does. Normally the little conversations you all have about your former day-to-day lives give you a sense of normality, something to cling to in the Entity's realm. All of you at some point agreed that what ever happens when the hunt is on stays away from your little sanctuary. This is why, at the end of the day, you just try to have normal conversations when you finally come back to the camp fire: A small escape of the fear and pain and torture you have to endure.

But not tonight. You still feel restless, maybe from only barely having escaped the furious cuts of the Nurse’s bone saw a few minutes ago. Usually you would try to get some sleep before the fire dwindles down and you are forced to leave again, but something makes you want to stay on the run.

You know better than to just walk away from the still burning fireplace and into the thick fog. You have tried it before, just after you woke up here for the first time, in search of a way back home. But each and every time you somehow just ended up right next to the crackling fire again.

You signal the others that you need to go for a piss and get up from the log you have been sitting on. Only a few steps away from the camp you are already completely swallowed up by the fog. Just when you feel to have enough privacy to do what you came here for, you hear the horribly familiar cracking sound of a hunting stage forming around you.

This has never happened before. Not this soon after a successful escape. Not without the Entity calling you.

You feel fear rising inside your guts. You are not ready, not again. As you try to run back to the direction you think you came from you can already see the shadowy trees moving away from you and the fog getting thinner, revealing a parking lot.

  
  


You stop running immediately, cowering down and looking for cover to not give you away to which ever killer the Entity has decided to slaughter you with now. The concrete under your shoes reminds you of Haddonfield, but the tall abandoned structure you are crouching next to has more in common with the asylum. You don’t recognize it though. A run down two story building with a wooden facade and glass missing in the windows. Trying to breath normally you start making your way around it in search for an entrance or, even better, a generator.

So far you seem to be alone. No rattling breath, no ominous bells or screams from your dying friends.

Soon enough you reach the front of the building, dominated by a big two-winged door and a dead neon sign reading “Motel California” above it, lit by a street lamp close by. Never heard of it. Since there are no other buildings but the all too familiar wall that surrounds each hunting ground around, you feel like your best take on finding the closest generator will be inside. The rotten motel does not look any more or less inviting than the bloodied basement or the slaughterhouse on the farm. Though the swinging doors are closed and no light is coming from the inside, you get the feeling that the building itself is somehow very slowly breathing in, ever so slightly pulling you towards it.

The doors open without a sound. You quickly scan the ground floor for anything useful or any hints of the mass murderer on your heels. The only thing you find is a dead rat on a table in what might have been a kitchen at some point and an old registry book from 1979 under the counter in the entrance hall. None of the names listed have a familiar ring to them.

While there is no generator in sight, you are relieved to find that the door to the basement is locked. It is most probably not leading to the horrid place that is found somewhere in each realm, filled with the stench of blood and feces and littered with the remains of previous unlucky visitors.

Since there is no way to go down, your only way to continue is by going up the old and creaking wooden stairs on which the rug has already mostly turned to mold and dust. You try to move very slowly as to not make too much noise and listen for any footsteps, but nothing seems to be moving. The tension of not knowing where you are and what is trying to murder you is making your palms sweaty nonetheless.

Once you reach the upper end of the stairs you find yourself in a little corridor which is surrounded by rooms with number plates on their doors, just as you would expect to find in a motel. It is almost pitch black up here. The only thing you can see is a faint light possibly coming from the street lamp in front of the building through the gap of the only opened door. As you make your way towards it in search of orientation, you can hear faint but somewhat familiar sounds. The soft creaking of rubber makes the hairs on your arms stand up.

You know that your curiosity will most likely literally get you killed now, but you can’t help but to carefully crouch closer to the slightly opened door. While your instincts tell you to get out and running you find yourself slowly leaning around the door-frame instead.

You freeze immediately, unable to comprehend what you see.

The room in front of you is illuminated by the lamp from outside, just as you guessed. Clearly visible in the cold light is a figure you dread like almost none else, his face obscured by a white mask with a grotesque grin, his skin darkened with dirt and dried blood. The Trapper is lying across one of the beds, apron zipped open, cleaver lying on the wooden nightstand next to him. He hasn’t noticed you yet, his head tilted back as he is lowly grunting while moving his hand up and down his swelling penis.

Your face is burning red. You really feel like you are not supposed to see this or to even be here to begin with. You did not know that the killers could busy themselves with other things than, well, killing. It feels wrong to see the man that has broken your spine with that same knife and left you bleeding to your miserable end more than once just lying there fapping like any regular Joe.

You just have to look again.

He is handling his slightly stiffening penis with his left now, the right hand resting next to the nightstand, close to his weapon. You cannot help but to stare. Porn has shown you worse, but you have to admit to yourself that he is well hung.

The heat from your head is starting to travel to other places in your body. You are appalled by your reaction but only now realize that during all the time that you have been stuck in the realm of the Entity between getting tortured and killed again and again seeking this kind of privacy has never even crossed your mind. There always were more important or urgent things to tend to.

Slowly you sit down next to the door, considering your options. From your experience the Trapper is a fast hunter, relying on his infamous bear traps and stamina to hunt his prey down as well as on pure force and speed. You will have only a few seconds to run after hearing him getting up. Maybe you even get the chance to hide in the shadows behind the staircase so you can check the room he is in now for a generator or a chest, you try to convince yourself. Over the time the constant fear of dying has lost some of its sting.

Your hand is already traveling southwards on your body. You can feel the heat between your legs. There is a bit of shame, too, because of what caused your excitement. Before you got lost in the woods, before you started to expect a blade in your back whenever you move, before your shoulder was ripped apart by meat hooks on a daily basis you would have been aware that this is neither the time nor the place to get down on yourself.

Now though any small means of escaping the terrifying reality around you, even just for a few minutes, is more than welcome it seems. Your cold fingers have already fumbled open your belt and unbuttoned your pants. That is all the comfort you will grant yourself knowing that you will have to run for your life at any second.

Just as you are getting started the flashlight you found in your last match at the Nurse’s realm is slipping out of your back pocket with a loud ‘clonk’, rolling immediately out of your reach over the old wooden planks with enough noise to wake the dead.

You freeze with your free hand clasped over your mouth to muffle your panicked breathing and listen. There is only absolute silence coming from the room behind you.

Then, with enough force to impale a man, the cleaver is pierced through the thin wall, the blade coming out right beside your ear. Your hand only does a moderate job at covering your shocked outcry. Before you can think of anything else you hear heavy boots on the floor and see the massive body of the Trapper blocking out the last bit of light. You do not dare to look at him, do not dare to move at all clinging to the faint hope that he will not notice you this way, heartbeat thundering in your ears.

The creaking of his rubber apron as he bends down is crashing whatever hope there was and you ready yourself for the bone-breaking blow.

You feel a wave of hot stinking breath washing over your neck instead. Slowly you turn your head to find the dreaded white grin just a few inches away from your face. Trying to back away you hit your head on the dull side of the blade behind you, but he makes no move to follow. Instead he seems to be staring you down through the tiny black holes of his mask.

Well, not  _at_ you precisely as you find out by following his gaze, but at your hand still resting in your shorts. You can feel the heat rushing back to your head with full force. There is a low rumbling sound coming from him in response. Before you can think about whether or not you have just been twitted by a killer for being caught masturbating, he is grabbing you by the arm and pulling you on his back with ease, like so many times before.

Immediately you start to wiggle, almost losing your pants in the process. With a deep pang of horror you understand that the way he found you might now lead to new ways of torture.

As if wanting to confirm your assumption he drops you on the dusty mattress of another bed with enough force to break a slate out of the frame.

You curl up into a ball trying to protect your head and stomach despite knowing that this will only slow down his butchery for a bit.

As nothing happens for a few seconds you open your eyes to find him with his boot standing against the wall, pulling the cleaver out with the force of a bulldozer, ripping a hole into the structure as if it is made of paper. Before you can consider to run he is facing you again, breathing heavily, cleaver glistening in the pale light.

You know you will die now and you have no good reason to assume that this will be quick. You have learned that no begging and no screaming will bring you mercy in these realms. You instinctively ball up again, shaking, unable to face him.

With a deafening crack the Trapper plunges his weapon into the small nightstand up to its hilt, leaving it stuck there like some magic sword in a stone. You look at his piece of art in utter confusion, but he doesn't pay attention to you anymore. Instead he lets himself fall down on his own bed, shortly making himself comfortable before grabbing his dick again.

You watch him in total bewilderment. Slowly you are sitting up, careful not to make any hasty movements and trying to make sense of what is going on.

He has not hurt you for now. That is good. He placed his weapon in a way that will make it difficult for him to use, apparently with some sort of intention. Now he ignores you, which might be the strangest thing happening. And he quite obviously doesn't mind you watching him masturbate.

You sit on the edge of the filthy mattress and just stare at him for a moment, still unable to comprehend. Did he just offer you your own bed and went on with his merry business? You never had trouble before to decipher the killers intentions for they were not really subtle about them, normally.

Nothing is blocking your path to the door. He will not be able to knife you fast enough if he does not want to smash the entire nightstand over your head. And he seems to be busy enough that he will not notice you leaving if you do not fuck up again. You decide that you have been lucky enough to survive in the Trapper's presence unharmed for this long and should get out of here before he changes his mind.

Pulling your pants up you hurry to the door, your heartbeat still rushing in your ears and just stop in the door-frame for one last look.

He is staring at you this time, completely still. Only his hand is moving in the same rhythm as before. You can see the tension in the muscles of his arms, like a predator ready to jump.

You feel like a deer freezing in front of the headlights of a truck.

The seconds tick by. Then, very slowly, he extends his free arm towards you, palm open. Waiting.

You can feel something moving in your guts on its own accord. He... is he inviting you to join him?

You have no idea why you even consider this. This is madness. Even if he cannot use his cleaver he has enough brutal strength to just snap your neck with his blood stained bare hands if he should feel like it. But there is something in you, some sort of desperate hunger you did not know about, drowning out the voice of reason.

Adrenaline is pumping through your veins. The prospect of accepting this, to what ever terms he may set, excites you, the knowledge that this will most likely lead to your demise suddenly feels like a thrill. You want this.

It still takes some force to convince your body to move towards him. Your instincts are screaming in your head, telling you to flee the beast and not to lay your head into its opened jaws.

Slowly you walk over to the bed, reaching out for his hand. When you touch it you are surprised to find how warm it is. Calloused and giant compared to yours. He is sitting up almost in slow-motion, as if not to scare you away. You can feel your heart sinking nonetheless. Even sitting down he seems to be towering over you.

He motions you to get rid of your clothes. As you kick off your shoes and open your pants again your doubt is back, probably because your brain equals standing this close to the Trapper with imminent pain. You cannot know for sure how long this truce will hold, but maybe it will be long enough for you to find some relief.

He almost gently leads you on to his lap while relaxing back into the mattress. Under the apron his body is covered with vicious and slightly oozing gashes and dirt. Unsure of what you are allowed to touch you hesitate, only to have his left hand direct you towards his erection. Your cheeks burn as you get to grip his hot shaft, unable to fit your fingers around him completely. Thick and hard as granite. You try your best not to imagine what will happen to you should he decide that he wants to enter that into any part of your body.

With his hand around yours he shows you the speed and pressure he expects and you are more than eager to oblige. After a few minutes you are rewarded with a low rumble from under the mask, his head tilted back again.

Suddenly his right hand touches your chest, resting there for a moment as if to feel your heart racing against your rib cage. Then it travels down, thumb slowly caressing your navel. For a second you can feel his ragged blade slicing through your guts like butter, but the moment is forgotten as he reaches further down.

You can barely stifle a surprised moan as his fingers find that sensitive area with ease. You did not expect him to do you this service. As he asserts more pressure into his movement you can feel that his fingers are slightly coated in sticky liquid already. He didn't fail to notice it either, judging by what you now identify as a low rumbling laughter coming from him. You still feel a hint of shame but it is quickly drowned out by your excitement. Instinctively you start moving your lower body in the rhythm his hand dictates, the rubber creaking under you in response. The cocktail of adrenaline-induced fear and arousal is intoxicating. It almost feels like your conscious mind is slowly but surely dissolving.

Your hand around his penis is picking up the speed as well, urging him to lose a few drops in response. The heavy breathing from under the mask sounds too familiar now, having reached a level of agitation that you only knew from your hunts. A small wave of nausea rushes through you.

Without much warning he pushes his thumb into you. You yelp from the sudden penetration, but he moves slowly, giving you time to relax and adjust. He sure finds that spot fast enough, twisting his finger just the right way to make your eyes roll back into your head. Moans are coming from your lips now, whether you want it or not. You have never felt this thrilled before, so alive and light-headed. A weird kind of ecstasy is building up in your lower body.

His cock in your hand is twitching and his breathing is coming out in ragged bursts, showing you that he is close as well.

Suddenly he retreats his hand, making you wince and pushes you off of him. A pang of fear hits you as you stumble next to the bed. Is the truce over? He stands up as well to push you face first back into the filthy mattress with so much force that the bed frame creaks in protest. Then he positions himself behind you. You get back up on all four, feeling his massive erection pressing against your leg. You hear him fidgeting behind you, something like a small belt opening, but don't dare to turn around now. Your own breath is coming fast though not from arousal alone. This is what you wanted, right? He surely will stop if you ask him to. Right?! You suddenly aren't so sure anymore if you are ready for this.

With a loud 'thud' the heavy white mask hits the wooden planks beside the bed. You freeze as he bends down above you, his massive body surrounding you like a cage of dirty sweating meat. He pulls your head up by your hair to press his lips against your aorta. You can feel teeth piercing your skin while another wave of stinking breath rolls over you.

Then he lets go of you, reaching down between your bodies to press the head of his penis against your entrance. You are shaking. You know this will hurt. Nothing his hands have done to you has prepared your body for this volume.

His left hand now rests on your lower stomach to hold you up and give him better access. With his right he balances his weight on the bed frame, probably to not simply crush you under him. You can see his muscles clenching with tension and suddenly get a guess at how much containment he is bringing up to not just fuck you against the wall like a piece of meat. For a second you wonder what is holding him back.

Despite the nausea rolling back you attempt to give this a try. You slowly meet his movements, tilting your lower body up to ease his way in. Sweat is running down your back. You know the pain will get worse if you cramp up. Though he goes slowly you know you have reached your limit. You stop your movements, the shaking getting worse by the second. Then, scratching together what is left of your courage, you find your voice.

"Please stop."

You know this is probably breaking the rules. You don't even know if he speaks English. But you sure as hell know that begging has not saved you in the past. The wood under his right hand splinters.

You prepare yourself for the worst. Then, painfully slowly he removes his penis from your body, letting go of you. You take a deep breath.

Nothing happens. Slowly you turn around. He is kneeling over you, occupied with removing a splinter of the size of your index finger from his palm. There is no movement on his face but his eyes burning into yours. You can feel hot blood dripping on your leg.

You suddenly understand that you do not want to die here, despite everything. You will have to please him to keep the truce up, but maybe, you only know seem to realize, maybe even that will not safe you.

You know what you have to do even before he traces your cheekbone with his injured hand, smearing his blood all over your face. You have long understood that pride is not what gets you out of the gates each night.

You slowly crawl towards him, the heavy hand on the back of your head leading your face towards his still erect dick. You have to swallow hard as a cloud of musky smell greets you. As your lips find his shaft you slowly calm down. This you can handle.

Now your biggest concern is his self restrain. Better men than him have lost their self control during oral and slammed their dick down your throat but you might risk severe injury this time. No movement of his hand on your head goes unnoticed and you adjust your speed each time his grip gets tighter.

You can hear him grunting above you again, feel the vibrations of his deep voice rumble through his body. He is close to his orgasm, you can taste the bitterness of his pre-cum in your mouth already. You put your hands on his hips in hope of softening the blow should he suddenly buck up as he comes.

When he removes himself from your body this time you feel disappointed, almost like cheated out of your prize. He stands up again, pulling you to the edge of the bed as if you don't weight anything. You are too exhausted to wonder what he will do now, accepting your fate this way or another.

As you look up you see him standing over you, head tilted back, face as motionless as his mask. Finally after a few more strokes a shudder goes through the massive body. With one last groan his pelvis jerks up as he is spitting his load over your naked lower half.

You cannot help but to smile, being filled with a weird sense of satisfaction. Then realization dawns upon you. This is probably your last chance to get out of here without losing several liters of blood and a few limbs. Careful to not let him snap out of his orgasm induced seconds of bliss you sit up, reaching for your pants on the floor. His cum is dripping down your body and onto your genitalia, mixing with the dirt from his apron that is all over you on its way down.

Before you can move further he is right in front of you, his burning stare forcing you to avoid his eyes. He gives you a sharp nod, then tilts his head slightly back as if asking a question. You don't understand. With a swift movement he kneels down between your legs, now finally on eye level with you. He eyes your genitalia, then gives you that questioning look again.

“Oh. Ah, no, I didn't, but don't mind me. I am hard to please so don't worry abou-”

Before you are done babbling your head off of your shoulders there is something like the beginning of a smile on his face. Without further warning and any chance for protest he spreads your legs and shoves his head between them, giving your sensitive area a flick of his tongue. You feel all the air rushing out of your body as you sink back, doing your best not to push up against him while his teeth graze sensitive places. Then, after making sure he has your legs fixated with his arms, he starts sucking. Slowly at first, then with more force, giving a rhythm to your breathing. You lose all perception of the room around you, the world is melting down to what happens between your legs. Then he presses his fingers back into you, almost making you come right that second.

The sensation is almost unbearably intense. Your body is instinctively trying to push away but he has you locked beneath him. His rhythm is infuriatingly slow now, making you want to scream in frustration. He knows what he is doing. After a few minutes of torture he speeds up again. More fingers push into you, stretching you further while your muscles cramp around him uncontrollably. You are slowly turning you into a sobbing mess, tears running down your face. You know you can't take this much longer. This needs to stop right now, or you... What will happen then? You don't know. But he seems to be determined to find out.

You want to muffle the outcries coming from your mouth with your hand but he is having none of it. Without you really understanding when and how it happened he is above you again, your legs resting on his shoulders. The cold metal of the hooks coming from his flesh makes you flinch but he doesn't seem to mind the contact. Instead he presses your hand over your head, showing you exactly how much your resistance is meaning to him. Meanwhile his other hand has found that spot again. He stops his movement, his terrifying gaze resting on you. Waiting.

“P-please.”

It's not more than a whisper. He doesn't seem to hear you. Instead he lowers his face onto yours, slowly liking his blood off of it.

“Please”,

You say more firmly now. The hand above your head grabs your hair and jerks your head up, exposing your neck. He bites down hard just below your ear. You scream from the unexpected pain, feeling something wet running down your spine.

“PLEASE!”

Your voice is breaking. He pushes into you with well measured force, hitting that spot so hard that you feel like fainting, your eyes rolling back yet again. You know there is no turning back now.

Once. Twice. At the third thrust he bites down again and you just shatter.

You can feel your body spasming under him, hear screams that can only come from your mouth. Your being is empty. For a few seconds there is nothing in your head but infinity. If asked at this very moment you wouldn't even know your name.

Then bit by bit your senses come rushing back to you. His hand is still moving inside you, slowly, sending little echoes of your orgasm through your body. The part of you where your bodies met is covered in slick wetness. Your arms are clamped around his chest, your face resting against his neck.

Immediately you let go, flustered. He removes his fingers from your exhausted body, rolling off of you, just lying there for a few moments. His eyes are closed. There is a strange kind of serenity in his features. You let yourself sink back again, just staring at the dusty ceiling as the seconds tick by. When you try to wipe away the tears and the blood from your face you realize that you are still crying, but you don't know why. You feel the strong urge to touch him, to thank him somehow, but it feels inappropriate now, off limits.

When he rises again you know your meeting has come to an end. While he zips his apron up you hurry to get back into your clothes. As he picks up and puts his grinning white mask with the many teeth back on you know that your time is running out.

“Thank you.”

His head snaps back at the sound of your voice, as if irritated about why you are still here. Or maybe wondering what you are doing here in the first place. You can hear a low growling coming from him, his hand reaching for the handle of the cleaver.

Before he can jerk the weapon out you are out of the door, taking two steps at a time. The night air is burning in your eyes and you have no idea where you are going as you sprint out of the building. Following your exit is the sound of a heavy wooden object falling down the stairs behind you. He must have thrown the nightstand after all.

  
  


You try to bring as much distance between the two of you as you can, suddenly surrounded by the fog again. Despite better knowledge you look over your shoulder. The very moment the Trapper leaves the doorstep of the motel it seems to dissolve completely into the mist. Then the red light of his terror radius flashes in your direction as he picks up your track.

As you run on you can see a light in front of you, faint at first but becoming clearly visible as you get closer. You found the campfire!

As soon as you reach the logs surrounding it you slow down. You know he cannot follow you here. You are alone, everyone else seems to be with their own game of hide and chase. As you lay down to finally get some rest you drift of into a dreamless sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> The first person to find all the terrible perk puns gets a cookie.


End file.
